


Dracs

by headless-killjoys (neepynoodles)



Series: Zone Five Quarantine Fair [5]
Category: Danger Days: The True Lives of the Fabulous Killjoys - My Chemical Romance (Album), The True Lives of the Fabulous Killjoys (Comic)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Fantasy, For this AU, Minor Character Death, Nonbinary Party Poison (Danger Days), Worldbuilding, it's an unnamed character
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-08
Updated: 2020-05-08
Packaged: 2021-03-03 05:01:39
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,065
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24069301
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/neepynoodles/pseuds/headless-killjoys
Summary: Party Poison and Kobra Kid are two dullahans of the Phoenix Witch. They reap the souls of those whose time has come.Dracs could be anyone, even captured killjoys - their souls are always the hardest to take.---Day 5 of the Zone Five Quarantine Fair! A little longer again because i am Many Thoughts Head Full about this AU
Relationships: Kobra Kid & Party Poison (Danger Days)
Series: Zone Five Quarantine Fair [5]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1729321
Kudos: 10





	Dracs

_Where the good guys die and the bad guys win._

The masks take your soul. They drain you of all you are and leave you empty. A husk. A vessel. Draculoids are not who they used to be. But once a killjoy, always a killjoy. 

Out in the desert, Party Poison and Kobra Kid ride through the ruins and carry souls onward - they are extensions of the Phoenix Witch’s will. But they are still killjoys to the end. They have friends, occasional flings, allies, and enemies. Many recognise the bright red of Poison’s hair or Kobra’s jacket from a mile away, they’re an omen of death if accompanied by their motorcycles - matte black and completely silent. Their shadows twist and writhe, always larger than they should be. Dracs are no match against the twin dullahans, they fall to the ray gun shots before they’re even aware of the siblings’ presence. 

They travel alone, just the two of them, but they mingle often. Life, or _un_ life, in the zones is harsh, and killjoys must look out for each other. They help guide new escapees from the city towards the safest areas of the desert, where they can begin their new life and join the fight against BL/ind. Party Poison frequents the parties around the zones, letting the wild music get their heart pumping once more. The vivid blue of their jacket is greeted with excitement as often as despair. Kobra Kid makes himself known at the drag races, easily leaving the competition in the dust. They are heroes to many and friends to even more, rallying everyone together in the fight against BL/ind. 

Draculoids occupy an odd middle ground in the balance of life and death. The latter is the domain of the Phoenix Witch but only in the zones and for those who reside there. The Destroya is Life, and they are one of the only hopes for Battery City even though many do not believe in their existence. The dracs are created through a lesser form of necromancy, making them almost as undead as the dullahans, but they belong to neither domain. They could be anyone - Battery City civilian, neutral, killjoy. Anyone. 

Party Poison and Kobra Kid do their jobs with ease most of the time. They comfort those in death, giving them something to hold onto as they pass. They are terrifying in a fight; cold calculated shots and billowing the smoke of Death herself. But they cannot play favourites, they follow the Witch’s will, and there are consequences for those who cheat death. 

Some souls will never be easy to reap. 

They pull up to the BL/ind headquarters in silence, moving in sync as they stalk towards the doors. The building is dark but there’s a cobalt stain that seems to permeate throughout the area in a way that can’t be explained, in a way that can’t be seen by normal eyes. There’s a soul whose time has come. The lobby is devoid of life, but the glass windows are smashed in - evidence of a fight. Lying across the ground, back up against a wall, is a draculoid drenched in blood. Dread pools in Kobra’s stomach; if this is the soul they have come for, there is only one explanation. 

A killjoy will always try to die fighting - live free or dead, is the motto of many - and killjoys, as well as other zone dwellers, are the only ones whose souls are under the Phoenix Witch’s jurisdiction. The mask is just barely loose around the drac’s neck but fused to the flesh for the most part; it might have been removable if they still had their own will, but the pain would have been excruciating. Kobra Kid kneels down beside the drac, gloved fingers gently prying off the icy mask even as the drac makes guttural noises and tries to grip onto his wrists. There’s recognition in their pale eyes as they look up into the visor of Kobra’s helmet and their expression turns to pained shock as they see their own face in their reflection. 

The dread in Kobra’s stomach chills to an icy blue. He’s seen them in the zones before. Their name escapes him, as he’s sure it escapes them too. The masks take everything from you. But he knows them; he remembers the bright indigo their hair used to be, the paint that used to stain their fingers, the wild look in their eyes during a clap. 

Their eyes… The colour slowly returns to their eyes as Kobra helps them up a little further against the wall. He remembers what they used to look like; as blue as the sky at twilight, but now the blue has faded and they grip the front of Kobra’s jacket desperately. 

“They took her.” The killjoy manages to croak, eyes sunken and lips blue. “I had to try- try to, to save her.” 

Poison keeps their ray gun out, eyes scanning their surroundings, but there are no Scarecrows coming. 

“You can rest now.” Kobra hisses softly. 

“I can see… It’s so blue.” The killjoy whispers, gaze faraway and unfocused. “It’s so bright.” there’s a shaky gasp, “It’s beautiful.” 

They’re still struggling, still clinging to life for as long as they can, but they’re in pain. Party Poison drops to their knees beside their brother and places a hand atop the killjoy’s. Their red eyes turn black from beneath the scarlet hair that obscures them, like ink spreading across their scleras until it reaches their pupils. White smoke spills from their parted lips in thin columns like blood, and the scar around their neck darkens. In a voice that is not their own, Poison whispers a name. The killjoy stills, and passes on. 

The morning light shines against the broken glass. The sky is illuminated in bright streaks of blue and yellow. The two of them stand up in silence and return to the zones; they have a mask to deliver to a mailbox. 

That isn’t the end, of course. They make the loss known to those that matter, and they flock to the mailbox in grief. They mourn in a way that celebrates the life of the one they lost - they will live forever in the art that’s sprayed around the zones. 

_It ain’t about all the friends you made but the graffiti they write on your grave._


End file.
